


Unforeseen

by Yumicho



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, BDSM, Depression, Fluff and Angst, In later chapters - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, as you can see I love angst, more tags will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 00:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumicho/pseuds/Yumicho
Summary: Bucky is a disabled veteran who has a hard time coping with his friend's death and the loss of his arm. Hiding in his shell, he is vegetating instead of living and is quite comfortable with it, much to Natasha's horror. His life takes an unforeseen turn as he goes to his favorite grocery shop one day to get asked for his ID - him, a grown ass man of 34 years - by Steve, a much younger student of arts who looks at him as if he was sculpted by Michelangelo himself.Unexpected feelings ensue, closly followed by doubts, angst and mind-blowing, passionate sex.





	Unforeseen

It had been raining all week long. Heavy clouds were drifting across the sky, shielding the people from the sun’s light although everyone was hoping to get a last warming kiss from it before winter would finally come. Everyone, except for Bucky. He had been happy for the rain, for the calming tapping against the windows of his house, for the calmness that had gripped his heart ever since the rain had started falling. The sound was filling his ears and making him feel light-headed, as he concentrated solely on that music nature was giving him.

Bucky liked the rain. It calmed him down and made him feel… clean, as if the water washed away all of his sins. He knew that it wasn’t like this, not even nearly like this, but he liked the idea of being clean, pristine even. After everything that happened, he welcomed the change with open arms. He knew that nothing would ever be able to clean him from the dirt that was stuck to him like a second skin, that he would be tainted for the rest of his life, but it was okay. He came to terms with his fate, he accepted it. That’s why he valued such little things like the rain so much more than other people did. He saw things others didn’t, noticed tiny changes in his surroundings which most of the others simply overlooked.

But not Bucky. He had become observant. He cherished the things he had, at least he tried. Most of the time. 

A sigh left his lips when he got up from the couch in his living room which he had been sitting on for the past hour, procrastinating to go to the grocery shop down the street. Just the thought of leaving his house and having to interact with other people made him cringe, the skin on his neck prickled and he closed his eyes for a second to calm himself down. He counted to ten in his head, slowly, imagining the numbers before his inner eye to have something to anchor him, to make him calm down, but it didn’t work. He could feel how his heart started beating faster and how the palms of his hands started to sweat, right before his breath left his slightly open mouth in shallow gasps. He tried to control it, but the more he tried to force his lungs to work slower, the faster his breathing came until small black dots started to dance before his closed eyes.

He was having a panic attack.

As if his life wasn’t already fucked up enough, as if having to go to the fucking grocery shop wasn’t enough. Bucky clawed the fingers of his right hand into the fabric of his black Henley right where it covered his chest and his madly beating heart, trying to focus on its beat but it was rabbiting against his ribcage so fast that it rather made him dizzy than anything else. He bent over, bracing both of his hands against his knees now, while he forced himself to take deep and regular breaths.  
‘Breathe, Bucky’, he heard Natasha’s voice in his head, calming and soothing, as if it was the cure to all of his suffering, the medicine he so dearly needed in his life. He focused on imagining her face, painting her facial features with his eyes until he could see her face staring at him with warm and yet hard eyes as she tried to calm him down. Worry was written on her face and a couple of stray strands of her soft, red hair were falling over her eyes as she bent down to comfort him, soothe him down with her hand that was rubbing gentle circles against his back. ‘Count to ten with me, come on’, she continued and sat down next to him where he was crouching on the floor on his knees, both of his hands now buried in his brown hair.   
He hadn’t even noticed when he had sunken on the hard, wooden floor in his living room, but he didn’t care right now. The only thing that mattered was his friend and her comforting voice and touches. “One”, he got out between gritted teeth and forced his voice to form around the words, relaxing his jaw to get the numbers out of himself. “Two”, he continued, still feeling Natasha’s hand on his back as it was drawing invisible paintings on it.   
As he reached five, his jaw relaxed enough for him to speak normally again, by seven his breathing calmed down to an extent which made the dark spots stop dancing before his eyes, and when he finally reached the end, he could think clearly again.

Thinking clearly included his best friend to vanish, which he didn’t like, at all, but he finally could breathe again and was able to let go of his hair which he was still holding in a vice-like grip. Bucky slumped backwards until he was sitting on the cold floor, leaning back on his arms, his hands braced against the wood to support his weight.  
He let his head fall back and stared at the white ceiling for a moment, taking deep and regular breaths, while he thanked Natasha from the bottom of his heart for all the times she already helped him through his panic attacks this way. He made a mental note to call her later, just to refresh the memory of her voice in his head, but well… things weren’t easy.  
Ever since he came back, he made sure to get a healthy distance between himself and everyone else. He stopped calling others, he stopped meeting them and the more time passed, the less they called him on their own. Less and less people cared about him, a couple of them for sure forgot who he was by now, but not Natasha. She always called him on a regular basis, knowing exactly how important it was for him to have a constant like this in his life and although Bucky never talked much on the phone, he was grateful for her efforts. 

After a while in which he only sat there in complete silence, Bucky finally got up and brushed the none existent dust off his dark pants and braced himself. It was time to go. He still felt panicked when he imagined himself outside of his house, but he knew that it had to be done. He needed to get over with it as soon as possible, because the faster he went to the shop and bought everything he needed, the faster he would be back home.  
Yeah, Bucky liked that thought. It eased the pain in his chest a bit as he walked over to the small entrance hall and pulled over his worn-out leather jacket, smiling a small, sad smile when the image of Gabe wearing it flashed before him, almost making him stumble. But he caught himself right in time, forcing himself to think of Natasha and replacing Gabe’s face with hers, and picked his keys from the drawer next to the door, took a deep breath while pulling his leather gloves over his hands and opened the door.

Only to slam it shut again when he hissed, almost blinded by the sheer force with which the sun was shining right into his face, greeting him like an old friend. Only then did he realize how quiet it had been during his panic attack, how there hadn’t been any sound of rain comforting him through it. Bucky groaned in pain when the realization hit him that it stopped raining. For the whole week, he had been able to bathe in the comforting fact that it was raining. He had been sitting on his porch on the backside of his house, with closed eyes and an open book on his lap, simply enjoying the sweet moment of cleansing peace. It didn’t occur to him that it might stop raining at some point. And it had to stop raining today of all days, just when he needed this comfort the most. His life wasn’t fair.

A groan slipped through Bucky’s slightly parted lips as he swallowed hard before he opened the door again, wincing at the bright light that engulfed him as if the sun only waited for him to come out, placing its rays on his face in a comforting hug. At least it felt like this for other people, most of them. For Bucky, it felt as if the sun was stabbing his face with millions of small needles, piercing his skin and making him want to cry out in agony. But he didn’t. He only ran his flesh hand through his hair and disheveled it a bit this way, before scratching his cheek, feeling the soft beard beneath his fingers even through his gloves. God, he should shave. He knew that he should, but he probably wouldn’t, at least not in the nearest future. It was already hard enough for him to take a shower when the crippling depression came down on him in all its naked glory, making his limbs freeze, his heart weight a ton and his body unable to move.

Taking a shower every single day truly was an incredible achievement for him and sometimes, he even heard Natasha’s voice in his head, telling him how amazing it was that he made such a huge progress. A progress to move on from a time which made him less human and more of a machine. A working, empty shell which only worked to get fed and enough sleep.   
Natasha called it ‘existing’, and to be honest, it felt like this most of the time. Bucky didn’t feel alive, not anymore. Ever since that bomb blew up their tent, ripping his arm off of his body as he tried to shove Gabe to the side, taking his friend from him in probably the cruelest way there was. 

Sighing, the brunette closed the door behind him and took the stairs down his porch, before he buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans and walked down the street, his eyes on the ground, mostly because he wanted to avoid the looks of the others but also because the sun was simply so bright that it literally hurt his eyes. After days of sitting in his living room in front of the tv, his blinds shut, he wasn’t used to the sunlight anymore. Which was quite a shame, actually, because he used to love the sun and spending as much time as he could outside – but this trait belonged to the old Bucky. To his old self, before the war. Before he lost his friend to it, along with his left arm. 

Before he lost himself.

The shop was empty when Bucky entered it, accompanied by the quiet chime caused by the tiny bells attached to the door, announcing every potential customer. It was small and manageable and Bucky knew exactly where the things were which he wanted to buy. He didn’t even need a grocery list because he only needed a couple of things. Grabbing one of the plastic baskets, he quickly filled it with a couple of things: tooth paste, shampoo, a loaf of bread, a slice of cheese and a bottle of whiskey. As he placed the bottle in the basket, he looked down on it, pursed his lips as his eyes went up to the remaining bottles – right before he took a second one and gently placed it next to the first one. If he bought two of them, he wouldn’t have to buy more any time soon. This thought on his mind, he went over to the freezer and pulled out a couple of frozen pizzas, proud of himself that he came up with this. Unfortunately, he had to buy things like bread and cheese on a regular basis if he didn’t want to ruin his stomach with rotten food, but pizza? Pizza was good, pizza was durable, pizza was life.

Feeling a bit better, he crossed the shop and added a family bag of chips to his collection, along with some sour gummy bears before finishing everything with a package of his favorite cigarettes. Bucky almost felt relieved when he started to pile up his things on the conveyor belt because it meant that he was so close to leaving this shop again. So close to going back home, to hiding away again, to finally being able to breathe again. He almost felt something like excitement boiling up inside of him which actually was pretty sad because literally nothing was awaiting him back home, but this was exactly what he needed – peace and quiet.   
No one to complain that he was only sitting around, grieving and throwing away his best years, the last remaining years of something which could be called ‘youth’. His youth which wasn’t visible anymore on his bruised and battered body, hard as steel, muscles strained all of the time since he was expecting a blow at any time. Not on his face, which was wearing a scowl most of the time, hidden beneath the full and thankfully well-tended beard. Not in his empty eyes which used to shine in the brightest blue Gabe had ever seen. At least his old friend used to tell him that whenever they were together, laughing and celebrating the beauty of their lives. At least before the war.

But apparently his youth was still visible, at least to someone, because a voice was ripping him out of his thoughts, taking him so off guard, that he didn’t understand it at first. Puzzled, Bucky lifted his eyes from the conveyor belt and looked up into the face of the shop assistant who was looking at him expectantly, a bottle of whiskey in his hands.  
“Pardon me?”, Bucky rasped out and felt quite confused because he seriously didn’t know what just happened. Did this guy talk to him? Apparently, he did because his soft eyes were fixed on him, a slight blush was covering his cheeks and his mouth was opened a bit, as if he was ready to speak again. And he did, repeating his question – and when the words reached Bucky’s brain, he realized why he didn’t understand him the first time: his words simply didn’t make any sense.

“Your ID, please”, the shop assistant – Steve, as Bucky noticed when he shot a look at the name tag stuck to the guy’s chest – repeated in a calm voice, but the blush on his cheeks deepened a bit.   
“Can I see it?” Bucky frowned deeply and shot him something of which he thought was a death glare, as he stood there completely motionless. His ID? Was this brat being serious? How old was he, even? He barely looked legal, so how dared he ask for Bucky’s ID?   
Bucky, who, by the way, was a grown ass man of thirty-four years.

“Sure”, he growled and lifted his hand to reach inside of his jacket, pulling out his wallet, from which he took his ID card and handed it over to Steve, whose eyes immediately fell on the small plastic card and took in what was written there, proving him that the man in front of him was fucking legal.  
If Bucky hadn’t been so shocked and antisocial on top of it, he probably would have snorted and asked the guy if he was right in his head, but instead he just took back his card and watched with fascination how Steve’s head started to burn as bright as the sun which was awaiting him outside.   
“Thank you”, he got out and pushed a button on his cash register which let out a small ‘bling’, the old-fashioned thing it was. But well, the whole shop was old-fashioned as its owner was a, well, old man who refused to upgrade his shop just like everyone else did. Decades ago.   
But it added to its charm and Bucky liked it here. There weren’t many customers so he could come here pretty much without any stress – his panic attack from earlier put aside – and usually, he got over with his trips to the shop without any inconveniences – until today. He got asked for his ID, god damnit. As if he was a twenty-year-old-man who wasn’t allowed to buy his own alcohol. For real? Bucky made a mental note to call Natasha later and tell her about it, without even noticing that this was the first time in what felt like forever since he wanted to call someone on his own free will. 

Bucky paid for his things without taking his eyes off of the blond man in front of him and observed how he was fidgeting with his change as he dropped it into the hollow of Bucky’s palm. And when Steve’s fingertips brushed him – his glove, not even his bare skin! – the blush on his face threatened to set it on fire. The brunette could feel how his eyebrows slowly wandered upwards as he frowned, but Steve didn’t meet his eyes and only smiled sheepish at him.  
“Thank you for your visit”, he chimed in his professional voice as Bucky finished packing his stuff into a paper bag. “Yeah”, he answered in a deep voice, rough from not using it for quite some time and turned around, leaving the shop completely unaware of Steve’s eyes which were following his each and every step until the doors closed behind him and he found himself confronted with the blinding sun again.

A relieved breath left Bucky’s throat while he almost stomped back home again, happy about the fact that he had enough to eat for at least the rest of the week – and today was only Wednesday, yay! – so that he could stay at home, eat pizza and continue binge-watching every remaining show on Netflix he hadn’t watched yet. Netflix, a courtesy of Natasha who had forced this membership on him so that he wouldn’t be sitting at home brooding all of the time, as she had kindly put it, as well as the phone which he loathed. He hated phones. He hated being available all the time, although no one was calling him except for his red-haired friend.  
He hated phones and most of the time, he even forgot that he had one, just like today. Bucky opened the door to his house and closed it again, locking it twice with his key before dropping said item onto the drawer again and walking over to his kitchen to unpack his paper bag, after he got rid of gloves, jacket and shoes. Just as he finished to put away his pizza into the freezer, he suddenly heard a faint vibrating noise coming from the living room. Bucky straightened his back and frowned, closing the freezer again before he walked over to the other room and looked at the coffee table in front of his couch. There it was. His phone. This devilish advice he didn’t need but Natasha insisted on him having one. It vibrated, right? So someone sent him a message. Maybe Natasha? It wouldn’t have been the first time both of them thought of each other at the same time, resulting with Natasha texting him, saying that she missed him and wanted to meet with him.

But when Bucky took the phone into his hands and unlocked the screen, he realized that it wasn’t his friend who texted him. It wasn’t even a text message, no. It was a notification on Facebook - and Natasha’s fault, again, that he even had an account on this horrible social media –, a notification that was telling him that someone wanted to… befriend him…?  
Bucky’s eyes widened a bit in confusion because he never expected someone to actually search for him on Facebook, but when he clicked on the small window with the bright red [1], he almost dropped his phone while reading who tried to get in contact with him. 

‘Steve Rogers sent you a friend request.’


End file.
